


Pollinate Me

by Starlingthefool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Sex Pollen, community:shkinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:46:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlingthefool/pseuds/Starlingthefool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not sex pollen, it's an aerosolized MDMA derivative, but the results are the same, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pollinate Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sherlock Holmes Kinkmeme!

"This is better than heroin," Sherlock observed, arching his back against the brick wall as John bit his nipple.

John was being less appreciative as an audience than he usually was. "You like that?" he asked, running his hands over Sherlock's hips, pulling them flush against himself. Sherlock moaned, ran his fingers through John's short hair, marveling at the hissing sound the strands made against the skin. His senses were heightened, every one of his nerve endings awake and screaming for more.

"This is better," Sherlock said, ripping open John's jacket, "than getting high on homemade ecstasy and spontaneously orgasming while listening to Phillip Glass."

"How can you keep – oh fuck, do that again–" John moaned, loudly. Sherlock spared a half-second to be grateful they'd been sprayed in a relatively deserted alley.

"Talking? It's not too difficult, even though we've been dosed with some kind of aerosolized MDMA derivati–"

John kissed him, a hard, wanton kiss that was full of teeth and tinged with desperation. Sherlock lost his train of thought for a while – too busy moaning, touching, and tasting to think.

"Aerosolized MDMA derivative!" he shouted, remembering. "Oh, fuck, that's good," he added, as John bit the underside of his jaw. He grabbed John's ass, pulling him closer, aching for the pressure. "They've turned sex into a chemical weapon. If this – oh fuck, John – If this gets into the water supply–"

"Then maybe you'll shut up a second?" John asked.

_Fucking ape-brains,_ Sherlock thought, semi-coherently. But then John figured out how to unzip his pants, and Sherlock's own brain lost most of its ability for higher thought. It was too busy marveling at all the sensations Sherlock's overwhelmed nervous system was cataloging: rough brick at his back, John's hands running over his chest and thighs and balls, cold air drying the sweat on his chest, his hands on John's hands, John's mouth around his cock.

He let his head fall against the wall, giving up any pretense of thinking in favor of just thrusting into that wet heat. He watched John take his own cock out, stroking it in the same rhythm to Sherlock's thrusts, and felt a deep twist of desire; he imagined taking John's dick into his hands, the hard length of it in his mouth, his ass. Sherlock let out a deep, wild growl as he came, holding tightly to John's hair. John clung to him, fingers clutching the pale skin of his ass, swallowing until Sherlock was spent.

Sherlock let himself slide down the wall, crouching next to John, watching him jerk off. He kissed John, wet and slow, and covered John's hand with his own. Another few pulls and John shuddered, letting out a loose and breathless noise that Sherlock knew would remain engraved in his memory, and comes.

Sherlock gave it a few moments before saying, "These dealers have created a potent aerosolized blend of ecstasy and Viagra. A designer date rape drug. We can't–"

Fuck the universe and everything in it, he could already feel that pressure building in the pit of his stomach, imminent arousal. He was already getting hard again. Damn the drug.

"–Can't let them get away," John finished, still panting. Sherlock licked his neck, blaming his need to taste John's sweat on the drug, and John whined. He nudged at Sherlock's lips with his own, fumbling for a kiss. "I know," he said, then swallowed. "Jesus, I want to fuck you."

Hearing John – mild-mannered, polite, unassuming – use the word "fuck" did something to Sherlock. He was suddenly, painfully hard, and in no shape to chase after a bunch of smartarse drug dealers. To hell with it. He hauled himself up, pulled John up after him, and managed to button his pants without groping himself or his flatmate too much.

"We're going to a hotel."

"What?" John said. His lips were swollen and red, and Sherlock ran his fingertips over them, embracing the temptation.

"We're getting a hotel room," he said. "And fucking until we're dead or the drug wears off, whichever comes first. I can easily pick up their trail tomorrow."

"Genius, you are," John said, sucking the finger into his mouth.


End file.
